


sometimes we take chances, sometimes we take pills

by splendidlyimperfect



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Crying, Dancing, Deaf Character, Drinking, Falling In Love, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Natsu's not good, Past Abuse, Past Suicide Attempt, Polyamory, Recovery, Recreational Drug Use, Running Away, Sacred Trees, Self-Harm, Sign Language, Tarot, Tumblr: FTLGBTales, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, but Gray can't let him go, but they're together, deaf Sting, lots of kisses, that mean different things, they're all running away from something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-10-10 01:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17416577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splendidlyimperfect/pseuds/splendidlyimperfect
Summary: Rogue and Sting are running, Natsu and Gray have nowhere to go. They’re all lost and broken, but maybe they can find a home in each other.





	1. sometimes we take pills

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Hum Hallelujah](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YriXnm8usjU) by Fall Out Boy
> 
> TW for poorly managed mental illness, drug use, drinking, references to self-harm/cutting, references to suicide attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsu's a disaster, a forest fire, a car crash, and Gray's just along for the ride.

“Let’s go somewhere.” Natsu’s voice is soft and his eyes are wide and Gray says _yes_ because that’s all he’ll ever say to Natsu.

“Where to?” he asks, keys already in hand, watching Natsu scribble something on his arm in black ink – it weaves between the scars that draw patterns over his dark skin.

“Anywhere.”

 

* * *

 

When they pull into Crocus in Gray’s beat-up Ford Pinto, everything is smoke and neon and flashing lights; dark streets full of people and dogs and motorcycles and the scent of Indian curry. Natsu presses his face to the window – black eyeliner, red lipstick, thrift store shirt from some obscure band Gray’s never heard of. He’s pretty sure Natsu’s never heard of them either.

“Here?” Gray’s voice is rough and Natsu says it’s because he smokes too much, which is probably true, but Gray thinks the real reason is because being around Natsu makes it hard to talk. Natsu nods, face bathed in the cold light of the streetlamps. He looks supernal.

Gray parks the car in a back alley behind a store with bright lights that flash _palm readings done here - $15._ Gray knows before Natsu asks that this will be their first stop.

Natsu changes into skinny jeans and combat boots before they leave the car, feet kicked up on the dash as he slides out of the sequined skirt and into dark denim. He tugs on a leather jacket and leaves the skirt hanging up on a chain-link fence.

“Maybe someone else needs it,” he explains, grabbing Gray’s hand and stomping through dirty puddles that reflect the half-moon and all the neon lights. “It’s my lucky one.”

“Why not keep it, then?” Gray asks.

“Don’t need it,” Natsu says, tugging Gray toward the palm reader. “Got you.”

Gray’s chest hurts. He wishes Natsu would say those things when his eyes weren’t the kind of bright that makes Gray know it’s not real.

The door opens to a set of narrow stairs that are thick with smoke and incense. They push back a bead curtain and walk into a room that’s so crowded they can barely move. Natsu immediately runs over to a table that holds a typewriter and several old phones. “Look!” he says, running his fingers through the cords and dragging the dials to zero.

So Gray looks, because he can’t deny Natsu anything, and it means that Natsu will touch his arm and give him a smile that’s so bright it hurts. They look at crumbling paperbacks with hand-written notes inside, at chipped china plates and matching teacups, at vintage records of Queen and The Rolling Stones, at packets of incense and jewelry made with stones that claim to heal you or calm your mind.

Natsu touches everything, fingers drifting over vinyl, plastic, weathered paper.

“Do you want to know?” Someone appears behind the glass-topped counter – a slip of a girl with braided hair and smoky eyes, and a deck of tarot cards between her fingers. Her nails are bitten, dark polish flaking away. Her hands are dirty.

“Know what?” Gray asks, but Natsu has already said _yes_ and is following her through another curtain, dragging Gray behind him.

This room is even _more_ full of junk, stacked high to the ceiling along each wall, and they have to cram together around a tiny table in folding chairs. The girl shifts the cards between her hands. They’re old, ragged around the edges and hand-painted, and when she lays them down on the table, they don’t look like any tarot Gray has ever seen. Thanks to Natsu, he’s seen a lot.

The girl studies both of them intently – her dark eyes are ringed with even darker liner, and it makes it feel like she’s a demon of sorts. After a moment she smiles, dry lipstick cracking, and pulls a flask from her pocket. There’s an ankh engraved on it, and she takes a swig, licking her lips and giving them a smile.

The first card she draws for Natsu has four hands, reaching to each other and touching in the center around the word _help_. Gray watches carefully as Natsu’s face changes from enthusiasm to something that’s almost angry. Natsu doesn’t want help. Gray knows that. He’s tried.

“Might not be you,” the girl says gently, and the lines around Natsu’s eyes relax a bit. The next card is a sketch of a large set of arms wrapped around a smaller figure. They’re surrounded by trees, and the word _sanctuary_ is scribbled across the bottom. She sets it cross-wise over _help,_ and slides it so it sits between the two of them, giving Natsu a significant look.

Under the table, Natsu’s thumb moves across Gray’s knuckles.

She turns to Gray and studies him for a moment and he frowns, shrinking back a bit from the intense gaze. “You’re another question entirely,” she says softly. She taps the deck, then leans back toward the door. “Mira!” she calls.

There’s silence for a while and Gray is starting to find the sickly-sweet incense oppressive. He wants a smoke. Or a drink. Or both.

Then the curtain parts and another woman comes into the room, and she is something else. Her hair is white and she’s got a tattoo down the side of her face that says _don’t wake the demon._ It’s surrounded by flowers, and Gray thinks she looks just sweet enough that he believes those words.

“What do you need, _nyingdu-la?”_ She touches the girl’s face fondly, then locks eyes with Gray and gives him a smile that makes him want to run. “Hmm.” She reaches into her breast pocket and pulls out another deck – these cards are barely the length of Gray’s thumb. Closing her eyes, she spreads them out and runs her fingers over them, and Gray is entranced by her sharp teeth, her sharp nails, her sharp gaze.

She draws a card and hands it to him, and her skin is hot when he touches her fingers. The card is black, and **བརྩེ་དུང་།** is carefully traced on it in white ink.

“What does it mean?” he asks.

“Whatever you need,” she replies.

 

* * *

 

Gray keeps the card tucked in his front pocket. He doesn’t believe in this stuff, but he’s feeling strange tonight. Being with Natsu is always risky, like standing at the edge of a bridge and staring down in the dark waters, trying to decide if he should jump. Gray always jumps.

When they’re a couple blocks away from the store, Natsu reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cassette tape. He hands it to Gray with a wild smile, letting go of Gray’s hand and walking backward in front of him. The tape has _my suicidal affection_ printed in neat black letters across it, and there are skulls and hearts drawn around the words.

“Your car’s got a tape deck, right?” Natsu’s eyes are intense, dark, hopeful.

“Did you steal this?” Gray asks, already knowing the answer is _yes._ Natsu ignores the question, turning to look down the street.

Gray has no idea where they are but Natsu doesn’t seem to care. The street is dark and wet from the rain, and Natsu makes sure to step in every puddle as they pass food trucks selling singara and sambal sotong and momos and hot tereré. Easy girls and boys lean against brick walls, faces adorned with sequins and glitter, breasts exposed, piercings in strange places.

Someone who’s not quite girl or boy approaches Natsu, touching his face and smiling. Their head is shaved and they have a tattoo of a bleeding tree on their neck, and their eyes are the kind of wide that only comes from angel dust or snow. They lean in and kiss Natsu sweetly and he returns it while Gray’s nails dig into his skin.

The person disappears and Natsu turns back to Gray, and the ache is suddenly gone because Natsu looks holy in the light of the streetlamps. His eyeliner is smudged and his hair is mussed, and Gray can’t stop staring at his lips.

“Wanna dance?”

 _No,_ Gray thinks.

“Yes,” Gray says.

Which is how he finds himself in a basement club with strobing lights and deep bass, watching Natsu follow some a blue-haired girl into the crowd and toward the washrooms. Gray knows she’s got dust in her pockets and he could stop it, he could take Natsu’s arm and drag him away from here, take him home and wrap him in blankets and make him take the drugs he needs, not the drugs he wants.

Gray’s done it before, but somehow, they always end up back here.

There’s a hand on Gray’s hip and before he can push it away, he’s enchanted by a set of golden eyes behind tinted glasses. Gray tosses back his shot and licks the sweet liquor from his lips, then gives one last glance to the pink moving through the crowd.

He lets the boy drag him into the crowd, through the sweaty bodies until the two of them are pressed together, hips moving to the unfamiliar beat. Gray’s lost his shirt – can’t remember how, probably Natsu’s fault – and the boy runs his fingers over Gray’s back, around his waist, over his stomach. Gray lets him.

When they kiss, the boy tastes like candy. His lips and hands are hot against Gray’s skin and Gray pulls the boy tight, grinding against him. Lips on his neck make him gasp – everything’s blurry, lights blending together in so many colors that Gray can’t keep up.

If Natsu’s going to destroy himself, Gray might as well too.

Gray feels like hours pass. Days, maybe. Then a different hand on his hip pulls Gray away from the boy, drags his gaze away from golden eyes to dark green ones, pupils barely visible. Natsu’s grinning, biting his lip and turning Gray towards him, ignoring the other boy as he touches Gray’s cheek.

“C’mere,” he says, voice soft, and Gray knows this won’t last but he just doesn’t care anymore. He’ll take what he can get. He pushes the other boy away and lets Natsu kiss him, tongue hot against Gray’s lips, fingers dragging through Gray’s hair. Natsu’s so high he’s shaking, body vibrating under Gray’s fingertips.

Natsu’s a disaster, a forest fire, a car crash, and Gray’s just along for the ride.

 

* * *

 

There’s a diner a few blocks away that serves shitty coffee and lets them smoke inside. Natsu doesn’t eat, just watches the way Gray drags at his cigarette, lets the smoke press through his lips and up around him. Gray won’t give Natsu a cigarette. Last time he did, Natsu put it out on his skin just to feel it burn.

“Why’d you stop taking them?” Gray asks, flicking ash and pushing his hair out of his eyes. There’s a plate of pancakes between them, but they’re wet with syrup and Gray doesn’t want them. They’re too sweet. The coffee tastes better.

“Stop taking what?” Natsu asks, but his expression says he knows exactly what Gray’s talking about. There’s a container rattling in Gray’s pocket, full of the pills that might bring Natsu back from the edge he’s so desperately pushing towards. This isn’t the first time Natsu’s stopped taking them. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation, and it won’t be the last.

“You’re gonna crash,” Gray says. Natsu plucks the cigarette from his hand with shaking fingers and takes a drag, and Gray’s eyes flick down to the round, white scar on Natsu’s wrist. “You always do.”

“I know.” Natsu lets Gray take the cigarette back, and when Gray runs a thumb over the scar, Natsu lets out a soft sigh. His shoulders slump, suddenly, like everything is deflating. When his eyes meet Gray’s, they’re still too bright, but Gray can see Natsu behind the high.

“It’s gonna hurt.” Gray’s thumb moves up to other scars, remembering bright lights, the cold white of the hospital, hands stained red, so many tears.

They sit in silence for a long time, pancakes melting between them, Gray smoking three more cigarettes before Natsu asks him in a quiet voice, “Why do you stay?”

Gray sighs. He can’t look up because he knows there’s tears in Natsu’s eyes, wet tracks down his cheeks, and Gray doesn’t know if he can handle it right now. Not here, in the middle of a diner at four in the morning, surrounded by girls in fishnet and boys with gold earrings and waitresses with tired, sad eyes.

“You know why,” Gray says.

Natsu shakes his head. “Everyone else leaves,” he whispers.

“I won’t,” Gray says. Maybe if he says it enough times, Natsu will believe him.

 

* * *

 

They watch the sun rise from the roof of an old apartment building. Natsu convinces Gray to hoist him up to the fire escape, and they end up sitting on the ledge with their feet dangling, kicking against the bricks. Gray wraps an arm around Natsu’s waist, terrified to let go. Terrified Natsu will let go.

“I don’t want to die,” Natsu says as pink lines streak across the sky and bright orange flares on the horizon, dragging the shadows away from the corners and bringing pale color to the dirty city streets.

Gray doesn’t say anything, just runs his fingers over the scars on Natsu’s arms. There’s so many of them, little games of tic-tac-toe, white on dark. Natsu’s written words like _nothing_ and _empty_ and _infinite_ between the scars, as if they’re ruled lines on notebook paper.

“You’re more than this,” Gray says.

“No, I’m not,” Natsu replies. His hands shake as he follows the pattern of Gray’s fingers.

Gray knows what he’s thinking. “I’m real,” he says, threading their fingers together. Natsu hums uncertainly, then looks back up at the sunrise. Tall buildings are silhouetted against the light, shadows falling across the city as it wakes.

They sit like that for a long time. By the time Natsu’s heart has stopped pounding and his breathing is back to normal, the sun is hovering weakly above them and the sky is a thin shade of blue. The streets look different in the day – neon signs dark, traffic sounds replacing deep bass, pretty people gone home to sleep off their mistakes.

They should go home.

Natsu rests his head against Gray’s shoulder, squeezing his hand tightly. His breathing is choked, like he’s holding in heavy tears, and all Gray can do is run his fingers through Natsu’s dirty hair, kiss his temple, keep him from leaning forward and falling.

 

* * *

 

They walk back to the car on the dirty streets. Natsu ignores the puddles this time – he clings to Gray instead, steps uncertain, eyes on the ground. In the thin sunlight, nothing can hide. Flyers for indie bands fall from posts and are torn to pieces beneath their boots; gulls caw and rip at scraps of garbage while people with dark eyes and torn sweaters and shaking hands ask for change.

This is why Gray doesn’t leave.

Natsu can’t end up here.

Gray watches them – the beggars and junkies and barefoot children, and hard girls who roar past on motorcycles. He wonders if any of them feel like this, like they’re walking on the edge of something sharp and dangerous, not knowing if they’re in love or terrified. Maybe a bit of both.

When they get into the car, Gray digs the mixtape out of his pocket and pops it into the deck. It ends up being a lot of My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy, which brings a bit of a smile to Natsu’s tired face as Gray pulls out of the city. Natsu doesn’t sing along, but he taps his fingers against his arm, smudging the words between his scars.

Fields stretch out on either side of the highway, and Gray can almost see the white caps of the mountains to the west. Natsu falls asleep with his head against the window, soft breaths puffing against the glass to remind Gray that sure, they’re dirty and messy and tangled in knots, but the sun is shining and they’re both alive.

They’re almost back in Magnolia when Natsu jerks awake, gasping and shaking and digging his fingernails into his arms, and breaking the soft way that everything might have been okay.  

“Can’t,” is all he says, dropping his head to his knees. “Fuck, I c-can’t.”

“Breathe,” Gray says softly, reaching over to touch Natsu’s arm. Natsu just tugs at his hair, and the quiet sobs that he tries to hold in break Gray’s heart.

He pulls over to the side of the road and tugs Natsu into the back seat, head in Gray’s lap, Gray’s fingers in his hair. Natsu’s gaze is soft and empty, and tears just fall and fall. There’s static on the mix tape, and then the song changes and Gray wishes he could reach the tape deck because this isn’t what Natsu needs to hear right now.

 _all of your flaws are aligned with this mood of mine_  
_cutting me to the bone_  
_nothing left to leave behind_

“I don’t want…” Natsu holds Gray’s hand tightly and stares out the window, and Gray wants to cry at the emptiness in his gaze. He wants Natsu to kiss him again, wants his eyes to be bright and warm and _alive_ , even if it takes lines of powder in a dirty bathroom to get him there, because anything is better than this. “I don’t want to die,” Natsu whispers again. “But I don’t want to be here.”

“Here with me?” Gray asks, and Natsu shakes his head vigorously, looking up at Gray with sad, dark eyes and chapped lips and the scar on his neck that makes Natsu sigh when Gray traces it with his fingers.

“Just.” Natsu lets go of Gray’s hand and rubs his eyes, then curls up so his face is pressed into Gray’s sweater and the scar is right there, right under Gray’s fingertips, rough and pale and a reminder of all the shit that’s happened. The dark, angry things that neither of them can forget. “Run away with me?”

The words are muffled against Gray’s sweater and at first, they make no sense – they’re just noise against the lyrics of this stupid fucking song.

_You hurt me one time then I love it  
You hurt me two times then fuck it_

“Where would we go?” he asks softly. He tips his head back against the seat, trying to find patterns on the ceiling of the car. He feels like crying, but he’s too tired.

“Does it matter?” Natsu says, fingers tight in Gray’s sweater, forehead pressed against Gray’s stomach. Part of Gray wants to push Natsu against the seats, to kiss the pain off his lips and touch him in all the ways that make Natsu feel alive. They’ve done it before, Gray’s fingers in Natsu’s hair, Natsu’s nails digging red lines into Gray’s back.

“What about home?“ Gray asks quietly. Their tiny apartment with cupboards full of dry ramen and crackers, the bed that Natsu sometimes doesn’t leave for days and days, the locked cupboard above the sink where Gray keeps the pills and sharp things when Natsu’s not good.

“You’re my home,” Natsu says.

Gray wipes Natsu’s wet cheeks, then tucks his dirty hair behind his ear. All they have in a car is a duffel bag with some clothes and a toothbrush, two blankets, a pillow, and four hundred and twenty-six dollars. It won’t get them far.

Gray digs into his pocket and he pulls out Natsu’s pills, running his thumb over the label of the bottle and looking down at the beautiful, heartbroken disaster of a boy in his lap.

Something is tucked behind the pills and Gray pulls it out. It’s the card from the fortune teller, wrinkled from sweat, but the symbols are still legible. **བརྩེ་དུང་།.**

_What does it mean?_

_Whatever you need._

The song ends and the tape clicks, waiting to be flipped over to side B. The silence in the car is only broken by Natsu’s soft hiccups and the shaky breaths he takes.

“I can be better,” he says, voice breaking. He takes the pills from Gray’s hand and tucks the container against his chest. “I’ll take them. I’m sorry. Please.”

Gray pulls Natsu up against his chest, wrapping his arms around Natsu’s shoulders and running his fingers up and down Natsu’s arms. “Where to?” he asks, keys heavy in his hand.

“Anywhere,” Natsu replies, and Gray says _yes,_ because the paper beneath his fingers means _love_ , and he promised to stay.


	2. let's be alone together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogue and Sting are running, Natsu and Gray have nowhere to go. They're all lost and broken, but maybe they can find a home in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from [Alone Together](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFhEBmNwX_E) by Fall Out Boy
> 
> TW for talk of self-harm, suicide and mental illness

_I don’t know where you going,_  
_but do you have room for one more troubled soul?_  
_I don’t know where I’m going_  
_but I don’t think I’m coming home_  
_and I said, I’ll check in tomorrow if I don’t want up dead_  
_This is the road to ruin, and we’re starting at the end_  
Alone Together, Fall Out Boy

 

The gas station is quiet and dark at three in the morning. Rogue sits with his legs crossed under him, and Sting is lying across the cracked concrete, head on Rogue’s lap, fists tucked up under his chin. Sting is fast asleep, and Rogue keeps a hand on his back to feel the soft rise and fall of his breaths.

Rogue has no idea where they are or where they’re going, but he’s too tired to care. They’ve been running for nearly two days now – hitch-hiking and sneaking onto buses – and this is the first time they’ve sat still in hours.

They’re so lost.

Rogue wants to cry.

Sting’s face is bruised, purple and red lines spreading across his cheek like drops of dye in a glass of water. There’s a cut through his eyebrow and Rogue bandaged it as best he could with butterfly strips he shoplifted from the drugstore, but it needs stitches. Sting’s lip is still swollen, red marks dragging down to his chin.

It’s all Rogue’s fault.

He wipes angrily at his face as he feels tears escaping, hot and hard and rolling down his cheeks. If he hadn’t kissed Sting, they wouldn’t be here.

There’s a soft hum as a crappy-looking car pulls into the station, headlights flickering as the vehicle shuts off. Rogue wraps an arm protectively around Sting, trying to melt back against the building and into the shadows.

Nobody else will hurt Sting.

Rogue won’t let them.

The car door opens and when Rogue locks eyes with the driver, he relaxes his grip on Sting. It’s a boy, not much older than him, with dark, sad eyes and messy hair. They stare at each other for a moment, then the boy turns back to the vehicle.

“Nobody’s here.” Rogue’s voice is hoarse and he coughs a few times. “The pumps are closed.”

“Shit,” the boy says. He looks over to the passenger seat of the car and Rogue makes out another figure, curled up and fast asleep against the window.

The boy looks at Rogue again, hands clenching hesitantly at his sides. His gaze skips down to Sting and his brow furrows in concern.

“Are you… okay?” he asks quietly, tipping his head. The dingy fluorescent lights on the gas pump make him look like he hasn’t slept in weeks. Maybe he hasn’t.

Rogue just shakes his head and tips his face down to kiss Sting’s head.

They’re so far from okay that he doesn’t even know what it feels like.

There’s the sound of the car door closing, but instead of the vehicle pulling away, footsteps come towards them. Rogue looks up to see the boy crouching down in front of them, looking at Sting intently.

“What happened?”

Rogue can’t say it, can’t push the words through the lump in his throat. Everything hurts and the ground is cold through his jeans and he’s so, _so_ tired. His fingers dig into Sting’s sweater and Sting stirs a little.

“Can I help?” the boy asks. Rogue wipes his face with the back of his hand and sniffs. “I’m Gray.”

Rogue chews on his lip, glancing up at the boy – Gray – uncertainly. Nobody’s talked to them in the last two days. Nobody notices them. With a bruised face, dark clothes, and dirty hair, they’re nearly invisible. 

“Are you running, too?” Rogue asks finally. Gray sighs, then nods, looking back at the car. He rocks back on his heels and sits on the asphalt, digging his hand into his coat pocket. He pulls out a small, faded slip of paper and rubs it between his thumb and finger.

They sit like that for a while, and the air is filled with the scent of gasoline and the sound of cicadas in the fields behind them. Rogue’s fingers are going numb when Gray finally speaks.

“Where are you going?” Gray asks. Rogue shrugs, brushing his fingers through Sting’s hair.

“Away,” he says quietly. “We can’t go back.” His cheeks are wet and it takes a moment for him to realize that he’s crying.

Gray doesn’t say anything, just reaches out and touches Rogue’s fingers. His skin is cold and his hands are dirty, but the touch makes Rogue feel like they’ve known each other for a lifetime. Their lives have been separate stories, never overlapping for so many years, and now their words are blending together onto a new page. 

They’re both so lost.

They’re all so broken.

“We have a first aid kit in the car,” Gray says softly, eyes running over the bruises on Sting’s face and the scrape on his chin and the bandage over his eye. “We’ve gotta wait here- we’re out of gas- but it’s warmer in the car.”

Rogue digs in his pocket and pulls out a credit card – he stole it, but he’s pretty sure nobody’s noticed yet. They probably haven’t even figured out he’s gone. He offers it to Gray with a shaking hand.

“You don’t have to-” Gray starts to argue but Rogue shakes his head.

“If we can- can we come with you?” 

“Yes.” Gray stands up slowly, stretching out tired limbs, then gestures at Sting. “Do you need-”

Rogue shakes his head, shifting a bit and lifting Sting into his arms. Sting’s heavy, but Rogue will never complain – not as long as he can feel soft breaths on his collarbone and Sting’s heartbeat in his wrist.

Gray pulls the car’s back door open and Rogue slips in awkwardly, looking at the boy in the front seat. His hair is dirty and his face is pale, and there’s a bottle of pills clutched in his hand.

Sting twitches, starting to wake, and Rogue shushes him quietly.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “It’s going to be okay.”

 

* * *

 

It’s nearly morning when Sting starts to stir, mumbling to himself and stretching out his legs. He wakes slowly, piece by piece, until he pushes himself up and rubs his face, wincing. Rogue touches Sting’s cheek, brushes his hair back from his face, but Sting won’t look at him.

 _How are you feeling?_ Sting’s not looking at the signs but Rogue knows he sees them because Sting huffs, wiping his eyes and looking around. They’re in the back of Gray’s car, still in the gas station, parked off to the corner under one of the flickering fluorescent lights. Sting looks even worse under the sickly glow.

 _This is Gray,_ Rogue signs as Gray turns in his seat. _That’s Natsu. We can go with them. It’s safe._

“Are you hungry?” Gray looks at Sting, who frowns at him and flicks his gaze to Rogue. Rogue repeats the question with his hands and Sting shrugs, gaze dull.

 _You haven’t eaten in two days,_ Rogue insists, pointing to the box of granola bars on the floor. _Eat something._ Sting sighs, grabbing one of the granola bars and opening it. He withdraws from Rogue, leaning against the window and staring out into the dark.

The gap between them feels like an impassable chasm.

They sit for a while longer in silence, until someone else pulls into the station and flicks on the lights. Gray leaves for a bit, fills up the car and comes back with four cups of coffee. Sting nods in thanks when he takes his, but doesn’t look at Gray.

Natsu stirs for the first time, making sleepy noises as he rubs his eyes and blinks blearily at Gray, then Rogue, then Sting. In the early morning light Rogue can see him better – dark skin, dirty, faded pink hair, too-large hoodie. The sleeves are rolled up and Rogue’s gaze traces the shape of scars and words written in black ink.

“They don’t have anywhere,” Gray says after introducing Rogue and Sting, and Natsu nods as if this makes perfect sense. He tugs the lid off the prescription bottle, taps a couple pills into his hand, then washes them down with the coffee Gray hands him. 

“Hey,” he says after a moment. His voice is rough and he sounds much older than he looks. “Where to?” Rogue repeats the question with his hands, nudging Sting, who finally looks away from the window.

_I want to see the trees._

They’re the first words Sting has signed in two days. Rogue looks over at him – Sting’s eyes are so blue, and even beneath the purple-green bruises he’s the prettiest thing Rogue has ever seen. _My sunshine,_ Rogue thinks, even though it’s been raining for forever and Sting hasn’t smiled since they left.

 _Which trees?_ Rogue asks.

 _The old ones,_ Sting replies. _The ones that touch the sky._

Rogue knows what Sting means – the redwood forest, named for a church, nestled on an island of mountains and lakes and blue sky. It’s hundreds of miles away, through the forested peaks and across the little strip of ocean, and that distance feels like forever.

 _The island?_ Natsu’s signs are clumsy, but Rogue catches the hint of a smile on Sting’s face when he sees that Natsu can understand him. Sting nods.

“How far’s Vancouver?” Natsu asks Gray, who taps his fingers on the steering wheel, then shrugs.

“I dunno where we are,” he admits, taking a sip of his coffee. “A few days?”

“Just drive west,” Natsu says, signing at the same time for Sting’s benefit. “We’ll find the ocean eventually.”

 

* * *

 

Sting doesn’t move his hands again until later that night, when they’re sitting in a grimy motel with cracked walls and a leaky faucet and at TV with only three channels. Gray and Natsu have taken their clothes to the coin laundry machine, so Sting and Rogue sit on the bed in their t-shirts and boxers, with damp, clean hair.

 _Does it still hurt?_ Rogue asks, taping new bandages over the cut on Sting’s forehead. Mottled purple and red streaks from Sting’s temple down to his chin, and a blackish-blue mark creeps under his eye. Rogue brushes his thumb over Sting’s cheek, and for the first time since they left, Sting doesn’t flinch away.

 _It wasn’t your fault._ Sting says. He looks up at Rogue, rubs a thumb over Rogue’s temple, combs Rogue’s hair out of his face. _I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you away._

Rogue can’t help the tears, and he shakes his head, covering Sting’s hand with his own and pressing it against his cheek.

 _My fault,_ he insists with his other hand. _She wouldn’t have- she hurt you. I shouldn’t have-_

Sting leans in and kisses Rogue, tentatively, lips barely brushing together at first. Rogue makes a sound that’s halfway between a sigh and a sob and he grabs Sting’s shirt, gripping it tightly as if letting go will make them both disappear. Sting cups his cheek and kisses him harder, other hand running down Rogue’s chest and resting on his thigh.

 _I love you,_ Sting signs one-handed when they break apart. He runs his thumb under Rogue’s eye, wiping away the tears. _I’d follow you anywhere._

Gray and Natsu come back an hour later with pizza and chips and off-brand soda, and they manage to find a Star Trek rerun on the TV with terrible subtitles that make Sting laugh. Rogue treasures every moment of that sound. There’s only one bed in the room so they all pile onto it together, and while it’s awkward at first, by the time they fall asleep they’ve lost all concept of personal space.

 

* * *

 

They leave early the next morning, sneaking away before they can get caught for the stolen credit card. Rogue sits up front with Gray, giving directions from the map while Sting and Natsu nap against each other in the back seat.

The sun rises several cups of gas-station coffee later, and Rogue watches as soft light creeps up behind the mountains, spilling gold threaded with pink through the foothills and down into the fields that line either side of the highway. The heat in the car doesn’t work so Rogue’s huddled under an itchy wool blanket, flipping through Gray’s box of mix tapes.

“’Vagabond Heart?’” Rogue asks, plucking a tape out and examining the cover. Gray laughs a little, taking it from Rogue.

“My dad used to listen to this song a lot,” he says. “On road trips. He fucked off when I was six. I haven’t heard it in a long time.” Gray doesn’t say anything more, just pops the cassette into the tape deck and presses ‘play.’

The song is unfamiliar, but Rogue feels it thrum through him like he’s heard it a hundred times before. He glances at Gray out of the corner of his eye, tries to picture him as a little boy, laughing and singing along to music with his father.

It’s hard to picture him so innocent.

_the rhythm of my heart is beating like a drum  
with the words ‘i love you’ rolling off my tongue_

Rogue pulls his knees up to his chest, glancing back at Sting and Natsu in the rearview mirror. Natsu’s head is resting on Sting’s shoulder and Rogue smiles when he sees that they’re holding hands. They’ve gravitated toward each other, and Rogue’s been watching them interact with curious interest. Rogue loves the quiet smiles on Sting’s face when Natsu’s hands move in clumsy signs, or when Natsu understands him.

_oh never will i roam for i know my place is home  
where the ocean meets the sky i’ll be sailing_

 

* * *

 

They’ve been driving for four days when Sting asks Natsu about his scars.

 _Why?_ he asks, running his fingers over the marks on Natsu’s arms. They’re sitting on a picnic table outside a highway rest-stop, basking in the afternoon sun and the brilliant blue of the sky. It stretches around them forever, ducking behind the trees and kissing the mountain tops, and Rogue could stare at it forever and think of nothing but Sting’s eyes.

Natsu doesn’t answer right away. He lets Sting trace the scars with his fingertips, then looks up at Gray, who’s sitting behind him with his chest to Natsu’s back. Gray kisses Natsu’s cheek, wrapping an arm around his stomach.

 _It was easy,_ Natsu replies eventually. _Easier than… everything else._

Sting makes a sad sound, then brings Natsu’s wrist up to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to the darkest scar. Natsu’s eyes fill with tears and Rogue shifts closer, touching Natsu’s other arm as if completing the circle will somehow make everything okay.

 _Is it better now?_ Sting asks. Natsu nods a bit, then brings his fingers up to touch the bruise on Sting’s face. It’s an ugly yellow, now, with thick streaks of red, and it makes Rogue sick every time he sees it. There’s a question in Natsu’s eyes, but Sting won’t answer it. He tries to turn away but Natsu shakes his head, putting his finger beneath Sting’s chin and tipping his head up so they’re looking at each other.

There’s a long silence where Sting says nothing, just lets a few stray tears fall and searches Natsu’s face for… something, Rogue’s not sure what. Then Natsu leans in slowly and presses a soft kiss to Sting’s forehead, and another to his cheek, and another to the scrape on Sting’s chin.

Sting moves his head slightly, just enough so that his lips brush Natsu’s, barely touching. The moment hangs between the four of them, and Rogue knows he should feel something dark and jealous, but instead he meets Gray’s eyes and sees nothing but his own relief mirrored back at him.

 

* * *

 

“I thought I’d lost him.”

Gray’s voice is soft and he looks in the rearview mirror to the back seat where Natsu and Sting are asleep again. Natsu’s curled up in Sting’s arms, both of them leaning against a pile of jackets and blankets pushed against the car door.

Gray’s supposed to be sleeping – Rogue’s driving, following the green-and-white signs that are pointing to the sea. They’re high enough in the mountains to drive through clouds, and the windows are dotted with tiny raindrops. The radio is playing so softly Rogue can barely hear it, and Gray’s leaning his head against the window, fingertips tracing the water dripping down the glass.

“What happened?” Rogue asks. He reaches out and touches Gray’s knee, and Gray looks over at him hesitantly before taking Rogue’s hand. There’s a story there, a million words in the touch, little thoughts conveyed through the pattern of Gray’s fingerprints against Rogue’s palm.

“He died,” Gray replies after a minute. Rogue looks in the rearview mirror again – at Natsu’s face, peaceful in sleep, and the way Sting’s fingers are curled around Natsu’s arms, tracing the shapes of the scars on his skin. Like Sting’s trying to unwrite the angry words Natsu’s carved into himself.

Gray doesn’t say anything for a while, just brushes his fingertips against Rogue’s and breathes against the window, watching his breath fog up the glass before receding into nothing.

“There were-” Gray stops, voice thick, and the only sound in the car is the soft swish of the windshield wipers, and the gentle patter of the rain. “He was so sick, in his head, and he wouldn’t take the meds. I had to- he wasn’t safe, by himself, and I couldn’t work ‘cause I didn’t want to come home to-”

Rogue squeezes Gray’s hand as Gray starts to cry, shoulders shaking. The rain lets up a little and when Rogue sees a rest area, he pulls over and gets out of the car, moving around to Gray’s door.

“C’mere,” he says, pulling Gray toward the building, but Gray shakes his head, looking upward at the cloudy sky and closing his eyes. Rain trickles down his cheeks and he stands like that for a minute, then wipes his face and looks at Rogue.

“It’s okay to be angry,” Rogue says gently, taking Gray’s hand again. Gray lets Rogue pull him close and they stand there for a while, letting the rain soak their hair and clothes. It’s quiet here – they’re surrounded by forest and mountains, and the rustle water on the trees is a gentle background to Gray’s tears.

“I was so tired,” Gray whispers, pressing his forehead to Rogue’s shoulder. Rogue sighs, knowing that bone-deep ache of exhaustion all too well. “I almost- part of me wanted it to be over.” And then he’s sobbing, fingers tight in Rogue’s sweater, shaking like he’s going to fall apart.

“I’m sorry,” Rogue whispers, rubbing Gray’s back. “I know.”

Gray’s tears stop eventually, and Rogue pulls back a bit, using his damp sleeve to wipe Gray’s face. They look at each other for a moment and Rogue can see himself reflected in the deep blue of Gray’s eyes.

“We’ve got each other now,” Rogue says, voice barely louder than the rain. Then he leans in and kisses Gray.

Gray makes a soft sound against Rogue’s lips, then kisses him back, soft and tentative, bringing his fingers up to drift over Rogue’s cheekbones and down his neck. Rogue can feel everything – Gray’s sorrow, guilt, shame, fear. He says so much with so little, and Rogue wishes he could take it away, could tell Gray something to make him feel whole again.

When Gray pulls away eventually, he whispers _I know_ against Rogue’s lips, and they stand there for a long time, holding each other in the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't intending this to go in the ot4 direction, but they just all needed each other. <3


	3. we are all just stars that have people names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four of them fit, like a beautiful, broken disaster, and together they're going to find their way.
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/142370976@N04/33589422528/in/dateposted-public/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two poems are referenced in this, both by Nikita Gill, and I have included them in the end notes.

The next day, Natsu crashes. 

Sting’s in the back seat of the car again, with his arms wrapped around Natsu, and he’s not sleeping but not really awake either. With the warmth of someone else against him, he feels safe, and Natsu just feels _right._ They all do. Sting can’t explain it, but it’s like the four of them fit against the broken pieces of each other, all of them making each other something close to whole. 

Natsu wakes suddenly, gasping for breath and crying. Sting feels Natsu’s chest shaking, sees the panic in Natsu’s eyes, feels the car jerk as Gray swerves on the highway, looking back in concern. 

_What’s wrong?_ Rogue signs frantically, reaching out to grab Natsu’s hand, but Natsu pushes him away, twisting against Sting’s arms around him. 

Sting holds Natsu tighter, rubs his thumbs over the backs of Natsu’s hands, turns Natsu so his face is resting in the crook of Sting’s shoulder and he’s gasping out shaky sobs against Sting’s skin. 

Gray pulls the car over and hops out, sliding into the back seat on the other side of Natsu and reaching out to take his hand. Sting can _feel_ the sound that breaks out of Natsu’s chest as he grips Gray’s fingers tightly while he shakes and shudders in Sting’s arms. 

_Is it the drugs?_ Rogue signs, and Sting can see his lips moving as he talks to Gray. Gray shakes his head and says something back, but Sting’s shit at reading lips and his eyes bounce back and forth between them, trying desperately to figure out what they’re saying. 

Natsu’s fingers dig into Sting’s shirt and Sting kisses Natsu’s head, holding him tightly and trying to hum, hoping it’s not making things worse. It seems to work – Natsu’s shaking slows down a bit – and Sting keeps it up, running his hand up and down Natsu’s back. 

_We’re going to stop in the next town,_ Rogue says after a few minutes. _We have to find a doctor._

Sting nods, then turns to Gray, who awkwardly signs _sorry._ Sting gives him a gentle smile, putting his hand over Natsu and Gray’s entwined fingers and squeezing tightly. 

He makes a gesture that he hopes Gray will understand as _it’s okay,_ and Gray leans in, pulling both Sting and Natsu into a tight embrace. 

* * *

They find a medicenter in the next town – a rundown, sketchy-looking two-story building with a hand-painted sign and a plump, friendly-looking woman at the front desk. Natsu clings to Sting as they walk in, and Sting can feel how cold and clammy his skin is through his thin sweater. 

The doctor has kind eyes, but Sting can tell that he can’t do much. Rogue can’t translate fast enough, so Sting gives up on trying to read their lips and instead strokes Natsu’s hair and holds him tightly. 

At one point, Gray shows the doctor Natsu’s real pills, the ones that are supposed to keep him from the lows and highs, and the doctor digs through one of his cupboards and finds a few that he gives them for free. 

_Nothing he can do,_ Rogue signs eventually when they get back to the car. _He’ll be okay, it’ll just be bad for a bit. We need to find a hotel._

The place they find is dirty and cheap, but Gray carries Natsu inside and they all curl up around him on the mattress – Gray with his chest pressed to Natsu’s back, Sting facing him, Rogue sitting against the headboard with Natsu’s head in his lap. 

Natsu shivers and shakes and cries and throws up, and at one point Gray gets him in the shower and tries to cool him down, but all they can really do is wait. They take turns staying awake with him, and Sting clings desperately to Rogue when they sleep, feeling lost and terrified. 

Two days later, Natsu finally opens his eyes and they’re clear and focused. He looks at Sting and smiles weakly, and Sting can’t help it – he leans forward and kisses Natsu, pushing all his terrified desperation into the gentle press of their lips. He can feel Natsu humming, and Sting combs his fingers through Natsu’s sweaty hair, then presses their foreheads together, trying to ignore the tears that are running down his cheeks. 

_I’m sorry,_ Natsu signs to Gray when they finally help him sit up. Gray shakes his head, wrapping a blanket around Natsu’s shoulders and pulling him in tight. They sit together for a long time, each of them touching Natsu, all of them exhausted. 

Natsu eventually sits up and gestures to his sweater that’s hanging over the end of the bed. Gray passes it to him, frowning, and Natsu reaches into the pocket, pulling out a faded, creased piece of paper. 

When Natsu unfolds the paper, Gray looks like he’s going to cry again. He takes it from Natsu, smoothing out the creases, and Sting can see the word _HELP_ in the center, surrounded by four hands. 

_I didn’t want it,_ Natsu signs, leaning his head against Gray’s shoulder. _I wanted to hurt._ Gray holds him tightly, kissing his temple, and Sting reaches out to squeeze Gray’s hand. _I don’t want to hurt anymore,_ Natsu says. 

After that, something clicks between all of them. While Rogue helps Natsu shower, Gray lets Sting pull him into an embrace and cries against his shoulder, eventually falling asleep in Sting’s arms. Sting stays awake and strokes Gray’s hair, watching his face as he dreams and knowing that they’re all going to be okay. 

* * *

Once Natsu is stable again, they keep driving. After six days, three crappy motels, two family-sized boxes of discount granola bars and more cups of coffee than they can count, they finally reach the ferry. As soon as they’re close, Natsu rolls down the window and sticks his head outside, and the scent of salt water washes over them. 

“It feels like going home,” he whispers, and Rogue can barely hear him over the seagulls and the wind and the waves crashing against the dock. 

As soon as they’re on board, Sting grips Rogue’s hand tightly and drags him up the stairs, past the seating area and up to the observation deck where they can stand out by the railings and watch the sea. The wind is fierce, whipping Rogue’s hair in his face, and the four of them huddle together at the bow of the ship, looking out across the waves. 

It’s too cold to sign so they don’t say anything, just jump in surprise when the horn blares, then dissolve into fits of laughter, leaning against each other for warmth and reassurance. Rogue nearly cries at the smile on Sting’s face – he hasn’t seen it in so long. 

Eventually they head back downstairs where it isn’t windy, and Sting laughs as Rogue tries to tame the tangles in his hair. They find four seats facing each other, and Rogue finds himself curled up with Natsu, Sting sitting across from him with his legs over Gray’s thighs. 

Rogue sighs as Natsu’s head presses against his shoulder, and he kisses Natsu’s hair without thinking. Gray smiles as he rubs his thumb over the side of Sting’s foot, and so much is said in those tiny movements. Sting’s got his eyes closed, a small smile on his face, and Rogue wants to keep this picture in his mind forever. 

Natsu’s hand finds its way into Rogue’s, pressing insistently against Rogue’s palm as if seeking reassurance. Rogue gives it, and Natsu makes a soft, happy noise. 

They sit in silence for the rest of the trip – Sting falls asleep, Gray reads his book, and Rogue sits perfectly still while Natsu traces soft patterns on his palm with gentle fingertips. He can hear Natsu whispering something quietly under his breath, and eventually Rogue asks him about it. 

“Poetry,” Natsu says quietly, tipping his head back against Rogue’s collarbone. Every day his eyes are clearer, brighter, less afraid. Natsu taps Rogue’s palm in a soft rhythm, then whispers, _“we are all just stars that have people names.”_

* * *

When they get to Nanaimo, they pick up a map from a gas station and Rogue gives directions while Gray drives up the coast. The ocean stretches out to their right, dark blue waves topped with white foam, crashing into the rocks below them. On the other side of them, steep rock slopes stretch up to the sky – brilliant and bright, broken only by white clouds that wreath the peaks of the mountains. 

Rogue smiles at the look of wonder on Sting’s face as they pass through the forests. The bruise on Sting’s cheek is faded now, and Rogue hopes the memories have along with it. Sting’s nightmares haven’t been as bad since they all started sleeping in the same bed, arms and legs tangled in a perfect mess. 

When they pull off the highway and wind through the narrow road around the lake, Sting presses his face to the window, tugging on Natsu’s hand and pointing. Rocks and shale draw a path down the beach into water that’s so blue it looks like nothing more than a reflection of the sky. 

There aren’t many people around when they park the car and dash across the road into the forest. There are signs everywhere, telling stories of these trees – trees that stretch so tall that Rogue nearly falls over when he looks up. Everything here is ancient. Heavy lichen drags down branches, hanging in thick webs that obscure the sunlight and change it to a muted glow that guides their way along the trails. 

Natsu doesn’t follow the path. When nobody is looking, he grabs Sting’s hand and drags him away from the dirt and crushed bark, between a giant tree that split in two and left a doorway between its halves. Rogue and Gray follow them, and when they cross the threshold of the shattered tree, Rogue can see light reflecting off the lake along the shoreline. It’s so quiet here, their footfalls muffled by moss and loam. It smells so alive – like rain and sunshine and the promise of better things. 

_Look,_ Sting signs, taking Rogue’s hand and pointing to the dead tree. Pieces of the bark have peeled away, and growing from the remains of the ancient giant are seedlings – little trees that stretch out from the death and decay and reach for the warmth of the sun. 

Natsu steps forward and runs his fingers reverently over the rough bark, tracing a path to the roots of the saplings. Dappled light spills from the canopy and makes patterns over his arms, and Rogue can see that he’s written new words across his scars. 

_beautiful disaster,_ it says in black ink, and Rogue _feels_ the words like they’ve been carved into his ribs as a permanent reminder of who they’ve all been, and who they’re becoming. 

Natsu’s face is wet with tears, and he leans against the tree as Gray steps forward, wrapping his arms around Natsu’s waist and kissing the back of his neck. 

“I love you,” Gray whispers, running his hands up and down the poetry on Natsu’s arms. He rubs his thumbs over the insides of Natsu’s wrists, and whispers, _“even beautiful, ancient things are allowed to feel broken, and loved for it anyway.”_

Rogue has to think for a long time about the words before he translates it for Sting, and Sting’s eyes widen with understanding when he reads Rogue’s fingertips. 

_Come on,_ Sting says, grabbing Natsu’s sleeve and sliding their hands together. Natsu wipes his face and both Gray and Sting kiss his cheeks. _It’s waiting for us._

_What is?_ Natsu asks. 

_Everything,_ Sting replies. 

* * *

They wander for a long time, staring up in dazed awe at the trees, at the impossibly dense life that surrounds them. The air is thick and humid, and everything is coated with layers of lichen, the ground springy moss beneath their feet. 

Then Natsu finds a tiny path that tugs them deeper and deeper into the forest, until they’re crossing enormous logs that span rivers, running over loose bark and catching each other when they lose their footing. Rogue can feel tears in his eyes, but they’re for joy and he lets them fall. He couldn’t stop them if he tried. 

They find a tree that’s so big that the four of them can’t reach around its trunk. Sting runs his fingers over the rough bark, looking up as his eyes trace its path as it stretches to touch the sky. 

_It’s so old,_ he signs, one-handed, glancing over at Rogue with wonder and joy in his eyes. Rogue steps forward, traces Sting’s smile with his fingertips, then leans in to kiss it. Stings lips curve up against his, and Rogue pulls him tight. 

Gray places his hand over Sting’s on the tree, and Sting breaks away from Rogue, turning to stare into Gray’s eyes. The look he gives Gray is wide-eyed, almost worshipful, and when he steps toward Gray and kisses him, Rogue can hear the soft sound that Gray makes against Sting’s lips. 

_I feel alive,_ Sting says when they break apart. 

_You are alive,_ Rogue replies. _We all are._

They keep walking, spending hours getting lost in this place that feels like holy ground. Eventually they come to a small clearing where the ground is covered in polished stone. 

“It was a river,” Gray says, pointing to where the rocks wind away from them in either direction. They walk along the path for a while, tracing their hands over the banks carved away by years and years of racing rapids. 

A fallen tree blocks their way ahead, dead branches sticking out in every direction, covered in a thick layer of deep green moss. Sting stops when he sees it, frowning, then points at the dozens of small objects that are scattered across the wood. 

As they get closer, Rogue realizes that they’re tiny stones, each stacked in a vaguely human shape. They balance precariously against each other and there are so many of them, arranged all along the top of the log, some of them braving the thinner branches that hover over the dried-up riverbed. 

_What are they?_ Natsu asks, his hand hovering near one but not quite touching. 

_Inuksuit,_ Rogue replies. _The Inuit built them, to show people the way._ He hasn’t seen one in a long time, not since he left Iqaluit behind as a little boy. 

_To find yourself when you’re lost,_ Sting adds. The smile on Natsu’s face is vibrant as he runs down the length of the fallen tree, inspecting each figure and ducking between the branches. 

Gray crouches down and runs his hand over the stones at their feet, carefully examining them until he finds two round ones. He looks at Rogue, then finds a bare spot on the tree and sets them down. 

_Your turn,_ he signs, gesturing to Sting. 

By the time Natsu gets back, they’ve got six stones balanced gently against each other – two feet, two for the body, and two arms. 

Rogue hands Natsu a dark, nearly black stone that he found, tucked into the dirt by the edge of the riverbank. This one is cracked, lines of dusty white bisecting the rich black, and Natsu takes it from Rogue, running his fingers over it almost reverently. Then he turns and holds it out to the pile they’ve made. 

His hands aren’t shaking anymore. 

Natsu sets the stone down carefully, pulling away and smiling as they stare at their creation. It doesn’t look much like a person, and all the rocks are the wrong size, but they fit together in a way that’s difficult to explain. 

They sit under the log for a long time, resting in the late afternoon sun as it trickles down through the leaves. Rogue ends up with Natsu nearly in his lap, and before he knows it, they’re kissing softly while Rogue runs his fingers over Natsu’s scars. 

It feels so right. Rogue doesn’t know what to say, but he doesn’t think he needs words. 

When they start to walk again, Rogue realizes that they’re lost – he has no idea which way the car is, and he’s not surprised to find that he doesn’t really care. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was definitely a stylistic experiment for me, and I really enjoyed writing it. The places here are all real - Cathedral Grove is a beautiful redwood forest on Vancouver Island, and my partner and I found those Inuksuit when we were exploring last summer. I'm going on another trip to visit them this summer, and I'm so excited to feel that spiritual experience again. Trees and oceans and mountains are my sacred places.
> 
>  **93 percent stardust**  
>  We have calcium in our bones,  
> iron in our veins,  
> carbon in our souls,  
> and nitrogen in our brains.  
> 93 percent stardust,  
> with souls made of flames,  
> we are all just stars  
> that have people names. 
> 
> **Find Me**  
>  Find me when you are hurting,  
> Find me when you are broken.  
> Find me when your mind is a mess  
> and your heart is falling apart.  
> I have already seen you  
> as a beautiful, ancient thing  
> that lives in dreams.  
> And even beautiful, ancient things  
> are allowed to feel broken,  
> and loved for it anyway.


End file.
